Sacrifice and Compromise
by Starzki
Summary: One-shot ghost story. A haunted place gives Sango a difficult choice to make. MirSan, of course.


Disclaimer: Just don't sue me, ok? I'm seriously broke.

Author's Note 1: I'm finally started to catch up on some work, so I rewarded myself by writing this story up. It would be better as a multi-chapter story _a la_ "Groping," but I don't have the time, patience, or attention span to write up more than a one-shot. It's not exactly light fare, but we'll see how it turned out. Oh, and it might be slightly AU in areas. You'll see what I mean.

* * *

Sacrifice and Compromise

By Starzki

-

Like so many other travelers in the area, their distinctive group visited the burnt-out shell of the once mighty castle. Some rumors in the area claimed that it had fallen to witchcraft. Others stated that an evil spirit with a penchant for possession had taken up residence in the castle. Others said the lord had simply gone mad and committed the arson upon his own house. As common for most truths, the real story was hidden amongst all of the fanciful and entertaining lies, more wretched and horrifying than even the darkest speculations.

The group was drawn to the house by morbid curiosity. Most of the priceless artifacts that had not been destroyed in the fire still remained, both unclaimed and unlooted. The power of the daunting rumors of lingering evil spirituality was too great to tempt even the poorest in the area. But the rumors also brought in the spectators by the hundreds to the macabre museum.

They ascended the steps single file. Even Inuyasha was ill at ease because of the eerie hum of the atmosphere as he led the group up the stairs. As he entered, a young, exhausted, beautiful couple was just exiting, clutching each other and refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Miroku, the last up the stairs, was the only one to hear the young woman whisper to her companion, "Tell them not to go in. Tell them, 'Don't,'" before being gently hushed.

-

The picture entranced Sango. It was different than anything she had ever seen. More detailed than a simple print, having more impact than an offhand watercolor, the painting was a window into another life.

The painting, like all others in that damned place, was far removed from anything any of them had seen. Kagome murmured something about a "photograph," but Sango was deaf to her. The rest of the group lingered on the painting only as much as they lingered on the others that had been created with the same breathtaking attention to detail. But this one was special. Sango couldn't tear her eyes away from it. It was almost as if it had been painted for her.

It was annoyingly picturesque, in a way. A wedding scene. The proud and happy family of the bride, mother and father and brother, looked on approvingly as the bride took her vows. The bride was the personification of beauty and happiness. Her eyes were wet and dancing, face radiating health and happiness, exhibiting pure joy and vivacity that only virgin brides seemed to know.

She was the very likeness of Sango.

-

The next morning before sunrise, the group was still reeling from their visit to the empty, wretched castle. Each had come away feeling like they left behind a portion of their innocence and a piece of their souls. It is a hard thing to witness the desolation of an unfulfilled life.

Inuyasha and Kagome sought each other's presence, refusing to let the other out of sight and taking comfort in old arguments.

Shippou demanded attention from everyone, eventually settling for bearing the watchful eye of Kirara as she stalked about, disquieted in her own way.

Miroku felt restless and anxious. He paced, waiting for the sun to rise and envying that Sango could sleep at all after the horror of that place.

After sunrise, they discovered that Sango refused to rouse at all. She would not wake.

-

_Sango awoke in her bed, momentarily confused by her surroundings. She shook the feeling off. How could she not remember the home, the room, that had been hers for the past seventeen years? Maybe it was her nearing wedding. Her father told her that her groom was a good man, that it was a good match. Sango was still apprehensive._

_Creeping out of bed, she saw no sign of any of her family. They must have gotten early starts to their days, letting her sleep in._

_At the window that overlooked the garden, Sango felt strange. For a moment, there was an ominous feeling of doubling; she could remember two lives. Then, she felt in danger of being torn in half as the choice was set before her._

_As the feeling and remembering passed, she sighed in relief. This life was so different from that other one. She was glad she was in this one. In this life, she wasn't bone tired from fighting for every moment. In this life, there was no lingering pain. In this life, there was no unrelenting grief. In this life, living didn't hurt. She decided to forget that moment of being two. She chose this life._

-

It was as though Sango had been transformed into a doll. She was limp and pliable. Yet she still breathed. She was still warm.

Kagome tried everything to wake her. Shaking and pinching and trying to find something in her first aid bag that would rouse her friend, she was unsuccessful in waking Sango.

Inuyasha yelled and groused at Sango. He tried threats and bribes to wake her, but she would not be moved to stir.

Shippou and Kirara sat worried, the only ones who would admit their helplessness and lack of understanding.

Miroku was silent as he sat and watched over her, her personal sentinel. In his stillness and meditation he tried to read what was wrong with her. All he felt radiating from the sleeping Sango was happiness and relief. He wasn't sure he wanted to take that from her.

-

_Sango's heart leapt with joy when she glimpsed her father in the yard four days before her wedding. He came around so seldom that the mere sight of him would make her happy for a week._

_It was for him that she would marry a man she had never met. Daddy insisted that it was her time to marry, to leave her childhood and move forward with her life. It was his way of giving up on her while simultaneously holding her even closer. He was releasing her at the same time as he requiring the greatest sacrifice he had ever asked. For him, she would live to make another happy, to solidify the truce between the families, to give up the things she could be to focus the lives of the strangers that were to be her new family._

_She would have done more if he would have only asked. She would tear her own heart from her chest if he asked her for it. She feared the day would come when he would._

_He loved her as long as she filled his expectations of the first-born child. Yet there were some expectations that she could never fill. She had been born lacking what would have made her perfect in her father's eyes. She wasn't a boy. Therefore, she would never be enough to satisfy him._

_She would try, though. He was her father and she lived for him, his approval. She fought because of him and stopped fighting because of him. She worked and stopped working for him. She lived for him and would therefore live for another. But she wondered how long she could go on trying to meet his demands. He always wanted that last inch that she couldn't quite reach, the words that just beyond her vocabulary, the world that almost existed, just past the current one._

_She would keep working for everything he expected and wanted. She was her daddy's girl. She would make the sacrifice and marry a stranger if it made him love her more._

-

No one slept well the next night except for Sango.

Kagome fretted over her all night and into the next day, alternately trying to wake her and trying to make her more comfortable. She kept feeling her forehead and checking for other signs of illness and finding none.

Inuyasha took to the treetops under the excuse of keeping an eye out for danger. Everyone knew that he was only attempting to hide how concerned he was. He was not optimistic that she would wake. There was an odd scent to her. Not death or sickness, but something related. He didn't know how to fight it and his ignorance scared him.

Shippou and Kirara curled up next to the sleeping warrior, dozing with her, hoping that they were somehow being helpful by sharing at least their warmth with her.

Miroku scarcely moved from his intense vigil. His eyes never left her, even when they were closed. He concentrated. The intense happiness he had felt from her before had waned somewhat. The happiness he felt from her now felt tainted, unsure. He was relieved.

-

_Three days before the wedding, she exchanged pleasantries with her brother. It was his time to tell her he loved her and to tell her good-bye._

_It was awkward. Neither knew the other very well. Sango knew she liked him. He was nice to her. He stayed out of her way and she repaid him in kind. The years between their births kept them polite strangers to one another._

_She loved her brother. Yet, he made her so sad. As her father's only son, her brother almost had more expectations that Sango did. The difference was that her brother never came close to reaching those expectations and had given up trying to meet them years ago._

_Neither of them would ever admit to the competition between them. Sango had set the bar too high. Sango hated that her brother refused to even try anymore. And her brother hated that she had done everything first and better than he ever could._

_She hated that he was the son she could never be for her father and he hated that she was the son he could never be for his father. Their mutual jealousy, if ever acknowledged, would poison and taint both of their souls._

_So they kept their polite distances and liked each other._

_And now, with the upcoming wedding, there would be no more competition. Sango had lost. In a sacrifice for her brother, she conceded. In her last bid for the father's conditional love, she effectively forfeited the ugly game and the cost was her freedom._

-

After another sleepless night, it was decided that help needed to be sought but Kagome was loath to move Sango.

Miroku could not be moved from her side as he kept his vigil. He was the natural choice to stay with Sango. Kirara would also stay to help protect them.

Kagome, Inuyasha, and Shippou all wore similar expressions of worry as they left to find an answer, a cure. All three took furtive glances over their shoulders at the shrinking image of their friends. They were worried for the wakeful Miroku almost as much as for the sleeping Sango.

-

_Sango was upset. She had just met the man who would be her husband in two days. He was old, nearly 40. He was overweight and unattractive. Worst of all, he was an idiot. Every word that slipped between his lips was false, preening, cruel, or uninformed. Sango hated him on the spot._

_Her mother called her into the kitchen to teach her the family recipes that were to be handed down to every daughter. Sango grudgingly went to learn._

_Sango did not get along with her mother. Even at this morning hour, her mother's eyes were like two panes of washed dark glass, barely focused, drunk by lunch, which was not an unusual occurrence._

_Sango was disgusted by her and rarely fought showing it. It was because of her mother and her mother's drinking that her father wouldn't come around often. The two parents had settled into separate houses shortly after her brother had been born._

_"Such a face, Sango," her mother chided, sending wafts of stale liquor smell towards her daughter. Sango always expected her to slur her words, but she never did. She was a practiced drunk. "Your future husband will not approve."_

_Sango glared at her mother who returned her gaze evenly._

_Finally her mother sighed and sat at the kitchen counter. She looked so small and plaintive, but Sango knew better. Her mother's words were poison and could only hurt and do damage. Her mother patted the chair next to her._

_"It's time we talked, Sango. You need to hear some hard facts of life."_

_For rare seconds, the haze that normally surrounded her mother seemed to clear. They had never talked, really talked, before and Sango took her seat with caution in her eyes._

_"Such anger in that face, Sango," began her mother, brushing back her daughter's bangs from her piercing eyes. "You'll have to learn to hide that."_

_"Mother."_

_"You'll have to learn that these men in your life don't want to see or hear about your unhappiness. Show them anything but a thankful, happy face, they'll resent you for their weaknesses. And you'll have to pay for their every weakness. Your strength will no longer be your own, but theirs. They'll take credit for all of your goodness and blame you for all of your weaknesses. You'll have to pay for your own weaknesses, too. Never show them weakness if you can help it."_

_"Mother, don't"_

_"I know you better than you think, my little Sango. I used to be you."_

_"Mother."_

_"You'll learn like I had to. You have to learn to swallow your pride and bury your anger. Become the beautiful shell of a girl that everyone wants. Be the empty vessel that will give them sons that will become like their fathers and daughters that will become their own beautiful shells for other men."_

_"Why?"_

_"Because that's what we do."_

_"Mother."_

_"I'm sorry, Sango. There's too much of me in you. I wished that any daughters I had would be beautiful little fools without a brain in their heads. It would have been easier. I hope that any daughters you have will be too thoughtless to realize the compromises they will have to make."_

_"Mother, no."_

_"Our lives are our cages. You can be free and hurt or you can be caged and comfortable. We want you to be comfortable. It's what we do. It's how we live."_

_Sango's mother gave her daughter a look that was the closest thing to a compassion she had ever given. Then, the alcohol in her system clouded her eyes and took away the sharp edges of the world to make her life bearable and bestow the artificial unintelligence she was robbed at birth. And she went over the recipes for her daughter._

_Sango felt more love and hate for her mother at that moment that at any other time in her life. She hated it but knew truth when she heard it. She would learn her recipes and learn to look happy and hope to bear sons because she feared her daughters would be like her, too._

-

For as long as Sango had been sleeping, Miroku had been awake. The black tendrils of exhaustion crept sneakily up his spine and into the base of his skull. But he would not give into sleep. Not so long as she didn't wake.

His dry, fatigued eyes began to play tricks on him. Shadows began to jump and take corporal form. Birds that weren't there began to flit about in the corners of his mind. But he continued to gaze at Sango. She was becoming clearer.

What had once been happiness in her sleeping aura had turned into desperate horror. He saw her misery seeping out of her every pore and knew that it had everything to do with the damned castle. But only in his fatigued state did he understand that he needed to take her back there.

Dark whispers just under his ears prodded him to pick her up, sling her onto his back, and trek back to that wounded place. Kirara had to guide him because his eyes would cross and he would grow confused at the path ahead of him. Kirara didn't understand. Neither did the monk.

-

_The day before her wedding, Sango went for a run. She ran because she could no longer fight. Despite coaches and teachers that told her parents that she could go far in fighting (even as a girl) they made her stop. She was not a son. She would not fight. Fighting was for children and men. Sango was neither. _

_So Sango had learned to love running. It could make her forget. And she ran for what she suspected was the last time. No doubt, her husband would take this away from her, too. It was odd to have a wife who would leave for hours just to run through the forest. So she ran while she could._

_She was fast. She outran the memory of her betrothed and his ugly, stupid reality._

_She was fast. She outran her mother's cruel honesty and her dire predictions._

_She was fast. She outran her brother's jealousy and his unexpressed smug triumph and ultimate freedom to live his life._

_She was very fast. She outran her father's demands; her fear of disappointing him; her desperate hate that he didn't realize her limits; her desperate love and that he would never fully realize her sacrifice._

_She ran until there was nothing but her body. Her mind was nowhere and everywhere at once. She ran until there was nothing but the pounding of her feet on the ground and the burning acid in her lungs and dull, hot ache that grew steadily sharper in her legs and shoulders. She ran and didn't realize she was crying until she collapsed in an unlovely heap of sobs, robbed of breath. She hadn't been fast enough._

_She panted and cried and swallowed and buried. She tamped it all inside of her. She swallowed the sadness, the anger, and disappointment in those around her. She buried her selfish hopes and silly expectations of what her life was supposed to be. She collapsed all of it into a tiny corner inside of her that she would learn to forget. When she stood, her cheeks were dry and she looked the picture of hope and happiness about her impending marriage._

_She walked home. She would live a life not her own to make others happy. Because that's what she did._

-

Miroku walked through the night and was at the castle by morning. It was deserted. He climbed the steps and left the fire cat behind him.

_Sango dressed for her wedding. Bile rose in her throat as she thought about the rites she was about to take, her future life. Her mother saw her face and offered her a drink. Sango put on her happy face._

Miroku found the painting that had entranced Sango four days before. He had noticed the resemblance to Sango before, but now, it was nearly perfect in every brush stroke, as if the artist had known Sango her whole life. He sat before the picture with Sango cradled in his lap and focused as hard as he could so that he could get to where she could hear him call her back.

_Sango approached her intended groom with a beautiful smile plastered to her face. As she turned to the man who would be her husband, she smelled the scent of sour smoke that triggered the weird doubling feeling that she had experienced four days before as it overtook her again. Time around her slowed to a stop. A painful rendering of her soul stole her breath. It was like she had two minds and two bodies that were fighting over her one heart. She would have been driven mad had there not been a voice in her head, beautiful and silky and comforting and welcome._

"Come back, Sango."

_"I know you."_

"Yes. Come back to me."

_"I am happy there?"_

"Sometimes."

_"I remember. There, I am scared and hurt."_

"Yes, but you fight."

_"There, I grieve."_

"You grieve there, too. I can feel it."

_"There, I have no family."_

"Here, you are still loved."

_"I'm loved here, too."_

"Here, you are free."

_Almost as if Miroku had spoken the magic words, Sango, in the world of the painting, looked toward her self-satisfied groom and made her choice. Her expression did not change in intensity or measure, but her heart burst as she disowned the picturesque life._

Sango awoke back in the monk's arms. She looked up into his bloodshot and shadowed blue-gray eyes and was relieved. And guilty. She couldn't stand his gaze for long before she succumbed to sobs.

She felt so guilty. She hated herself for the choice. She had sacrificed her family: her mother, brother, and father who had all loved her in their own ways. Even though they now felt so false, so far from the true family she had known, she had still given them up for her own selfish freedom. She had compromised away those around her so that she could truly live a life that was hers, even a painful one. It was selfish.

She cried in Miroku's arms, guilty for coming back to him, in many ways because of him. She had been sleeping for days, but it was a false slumber and her wracked remorse exhausted her further. Miroku held her and soothed her and murmured non-sensical but lulling sounds into her ear, guilty in his own way for tempting her back to this hard life.

Sango's tears did eventually cease into soundless shuddering. They had to leave. They gave the painting one last look and saw that it no longer revealed Sango as the bride, but another young woman. They both felt physically nauseated by the change.

Miroku attempted helping Sango to her feet, but he was tired, too. She stood and supported him as much as he supported her. They walked to the exit, tentatively glad that the ordeal was over.

Before leaving, Miroku looked at the painting one last time. He noticed its title in the corner of the picture. It was called "Birth or Death of the Beautiful Shell."

-

Sango had made her choice. She chose a life of freedom and grieving happiness to the life of frustration and grief imprisoned in a surface contentment and ease. Too tired to even open her eyes, she allowed Miroku to guide her down the stairs. She heard the shuffling of others coming up the steps.

Miroku saw the other couple briefly, but refused to look closer, afraid that the woman would look like the new face in the painting. He was so tired. He clutched Sango closer to him and breathed in the scent of her hair as he concentrated solely on making the next step down the stairs. Clutching to Miroku just as tightly, Sango mumbled to him, "Tell them 'Don't.'" before he gently hushed her.

They made their way back with their guilt carefully placed and weighing heavily on their shoulders.

_The sacrifice and compromise could never stand the strain.  
It's been a long hot summer, not a drop of rain._  
(Shawn Colvin, "Not a Drop of Rain")

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A/N 2: Okay, I'm a ghost story junkie. I love reading and writing them. I wanted to write an Inu ghost story, but they deal with ghosts and spirits as a part of business as usual, so it seemed silly to attempt one. But I thought about it and wanted to try anyway, so this was the result.

This story is also heavily influenced by reading Stephen King at the same time as Charlotte Perkins Gilman (no offense to either author). Reviews are always really appreciated. Thanks!


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